Takes One to Know One
by acrylic.sunsets
Summary: 'He wasn't the type to be jealous. No, really.' / 'He wasn't the jealous type. Why would he be' A series of parallel character sketches for Kurt and Sebastian, Season 3 and onward. Chapter 3: Green-Eyed
1. Shortcomings

**AN: This is a short...something? Not really sure, just a short dual-character sketch, I guess. Might continue it with similar one-shots, if anyone's interested. Reviews always appreciated :)**

* * *

He was a bit much, people said.

He never really understood what that phrase meant. Was there some universally-held standard of existence that everyone else automatically followed, and that he unwittingly exceeded? Was there, unbeknownst to him, a certain level of…of – _being_ that everyone was supposed to express, and that he happened to be in excess of?

A bit much. Even that phrase. Wasn't it an oxymoron?

Maybe_ that_ was what they were talking about. Using words like oxymoron and unwittingly and unbeknownst, the compulsion he felt to dress and flower everything up – to prettify and overcomplicate.

A bit much. You're a bit much. Much what? Much everything?

A bit much. A little many. A small abundance. A minute cornucopia…

Yes, that was probably what they were talking about.

Oh, well.

He was fairly certain it wasn't a grammatically correct phrase, anyhow.

* * *

People said he was heartless.

They also said he was cold-hearted, which, honestly, was a contradiction in terms.

And besides, when you really thought about it, why was it that he was called heartless, and yet when someone didn't want to hurt someone, they _didn't have_ the heart to do it?

Speaking of matters of the heart (or was it the heart of the matter?), he'd also been called out for what he'd done to other people's hearts. He'd made some of them throb, some of them melt, and most of them break, and some of that was considered alright, but that last one usually wasn't.

He could always pretend to be nice – he was good at pretending. In a matter of a few seconds, he could go from hard-hearted to sweetheart, and then it didn't matter if he was cold-hearted or had a heart of gold, so long as he had his heart in the right place (which, technically, he was fairly sure everyone did).

It was true, he could always pretend – but that involved caring enough to do it, and he didn't, not really, not ever. You could say he was pretty half-hearted about it (and now, was having half of a heart worse or better than being cold-hearted?).

Heartless, was what they called him. Maybe he was. Maybe he just didn't put his heart into anything.

Oh, well.

He was pretty sure everyone around him wasn't worth the time, anyhow.

* * *

He was a bit much, in every sense of the expression.

He'd never met someone that epitomized that phrase quite so perfectly – his voice, his hair, his clothes – God, his clothes. They were like a mix of French Avant Garde cinema and Lady Gaga's spring cleaning.

Now that he thought about, a bit much didn't quite cover it.

That boy was a lot much. Very a lot much.

So naturally, he had to make his life miserable. Because Sebastian thought people were bad enough when they were just barely passing the threshold of his awareness.

But this – this sequin-covered, rainbow-pride monstrosity sitting in front of him, practically screaming for his attention, everyone's attention - this was unacceptable.

"One of us has a hard-luck case of the Gayface, and it ain't me."

Not one of his best lines, but it would do.

* * *

He was fairly certain he didn't have a heart, because wouldn't it have shriveled and rotted by now from the sleaze and smarm that coated every inch of this boy's body?

Besides, people in possession of hearts didn't smile like that – didn't give that dangerous, insincere, mouse-meet-cat smirk.

He was a bully, that much was clear. It was clear from the way his eyes glinted with not-so-empty threats. It was clear from the way he threw out insults like he was throwing out confetti. It was clear from the way he took for granted that everything belonged to him (including certain short, bow-tie-wearing brunettes).

Blaine wasn't as attuned to bullies, wasn't as aware of the danger that crept from around unexpected corners the way Kurt always had been. That was why Kurt had to be the one to protect Blaine – he had to be the one who fended off this heartless, soulless CW villain.

Boys like him hurt other people – people like Blaine, and people like Kurt. But mostly people like Kurt.

"You smell like Craigslist."

Not one of his best comebacks, but it would do.


	2. Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

**AN: So, some people wanted me to continue this, so, here goes. I guess this is going to be Kurt and Sebastian-centric, delving into both of their characters/interactions a bit. As always, reviews are appreciated :)**

* * *

Believe it or not, he'd actually been trying to tone things down this year.

Now, the clothes were non-negotiable. The clothes were his happy place, his daily esteem-boost.

Believe it or not, he didn't wear the clothes for attention. It was everything _else_ he usually did that was for attention, and that was where he'd been trying to tone things down.

It was a work in progress.

One of the main reasons was Blaine. Because every time he so much as reached for Blaine's hand in public, he could see the trapped, deer-in-headlights fear light up in Blaine's eyes, and he immediately felt guilty for forgetting.

It wasn't that he was braver than Blaine. It really wasn't. It was just… he was used to it, used to the looks, the shunning, the attention. He was so used to it he didn't even really notice it anymore.

And, well, maybe he'd started seeking it out a bit. Maybe he enjoyed the shocked stares when he performed Madonna. Maybe he relished the scandalized looks when he walked down the hallway with his boyfriend.

Maybe he'd become a bit of an attention whore.

So, he was trying to tone things down. Especially with Blaine. He understood why Blaine pulled his hand away, why he saved his affection for closed doors and wholesome musical serenades. Blaine was comfortable with attention, but not _that _kind of attention (and he had every right to be that way, after what had happened at his old school).

So, he wouldn't force anything. He wouldn't do anything to make him uncomfortable. He would try to tone things down.

It really was a work in progress.

* * *

Believe it or not, he was much tamer than he used to be.

Now, the sex was non-negotiable. It was a distraction, and it was stress relief, and it was a smaller time commitment, than, say, tying himself down with a ball and chain. Believe it or not, he didn't sleep around for the artificial adrenaline rush, or because he was trying to fill some emotional void left in him by his parents. It was alcohol, lies, and manipulating people that helped with those.

And yet, he really _was_ a lot tamer. Because before, when he'd been at that L.A. so-posh-we-sneeze-into-cash boarding school (so he'd lied about living in Paris – sue him), things had really gotten out-of-hand. Like, partying every night out-of-hand. Like, sleeping with questionable guys twice his age out-of-hand.

Like, getting into 'technically classified as hard' drugs out-of-hand.

And from all of that, he'd learned that even as a spoiled, rick kid, there was only so much out-of-hand he was allowed to get into – at least, from his Father the Politician's point-of-view.

And that was why he was here, middle-of-nowhere Ohio, in a school for the saintly and morally endowed.

He was bored.

So, so painfully bored. And maybe, to alleviate that boredom, he was sleeping around more than usual. Maybe, he was logging a few too many no-last-name boys into his phone for the nights he had nothing to do with himself.

Maybe he was a becoming a bit of a man whore.

It didn't matter either way. He was still much tamer than before, and it was Lima that was the problem, not him. Things weren't getting out-of-hand – not quite yet.

He'd give it another month.

* * *

He was already in a bad mood.

He'd thought that coming out to Blaine's sectionals with the Warblers would clear it out, but he'd earned a nasty headache from his hangover, and it didn't even look like he'd get a chance to talk to Blaine.

And on top of all that, _he _still existed.

There he was on stage, not doing anything in particular, and yet somehow, he _was_. How could a person without an actual solo manage to draw all of the attention towards himself? It was like Sebastian couldn't look away. No one shimmied like that. And what the fuck was that hip roll?

Attention whore.

He hated him. He couldn't show it, though, couldn't let on that he cared. Instead, he had to pretend to be enjoying it, clapping along to the beat.

He made sure to give an especially pretty smile to Blaine during the performance, just to spite _him._

And his reaction was immediate, but it wasn't satisfying enough, wasn't the trick Sebastian needed to clear out his bad mood.

He wanted to push him down – wanted to show him he didn't care. He wanted to ignore his existence, look straight through him when he talked, but he also wanted to devote his entire attention to destroying him, and now, wasn't that a conundrum?

Was it possible to break down an attention whore by paying attention to him?

He was going to find out.

* * *

He was already in a bad mood.

Maybe it was the impending weight that this Sectionals outcome would have on his life: no Sectionals win – no NYADA. Maybe it was the fact that Blaine had one and a half solos in their setlist (did being jealous make him a bad boyfriend, or just human?).

Whatever the reason was, seeing _his _smug, sleazy, buck-toothed face in the crowd certainly didn't help any.

He felt off the whole performance. And he even let his showman face slip for a moment when he saw him and Blaine make eye-contact. Sebastian's smile was all charm and allure and wickedness, and Kurt just didn't understand.

Why Blaine? Why _his _boyfriend? Out of all the available boys in Ohio (not many, maybe, but more than, say, three), why him? Why the one boy that mattered to Kurt?

God, what a man whore.

He hated him. Hated him in a way he'd never hated even his harshest bullies. Was this what jealousy felt like? Pure, red-hot, rust-green jealousy?

Kurt wanted nothing more than for him to disappear, to exit his life with as little warning as he'd entered it, and there was a real challenge, right?

How do you get a man whore to stop chasing your man?

He sure as hell was going to figure it out.


	3. Green-Eyed

**AN: ****The first Kurt/Sebastian scene in _Michael_ (there are a lot of Kurt/Sebastian scenes in this episode). Hope you guys like it, and thank you for the lovely reviews so far!**

* * *

He wasn't the type to be jealous.

No, really.

When it was Jeremiah, it had been more of a heart-rending, cringe-worthy cataclysm that had slowly pulled apart the strings of his heart, one sleazy Robin-Thicke note at a time. He'd been heartbroken, yes, but he hadn't been jealous – not with that Heath Ledger hair and his shining career as _assistant manager_ _at the_ _Gap_ (really, getting him fired had been doing him a favor).

He hadn't been jealous, because he'd always been comfortable in the knowledge that he was better.

When it was Rachel, it had been different.

He still hadn't been jealous – he couldn't be jealous of a girl who wore white stockings on purpose.

But he'd been… hurt, in a way that he hadn't with Jeremiah.

After the Gap Attack, feelings had been made known, and understandings had been reached. Flash forward a few weeks, and Rachel was swapping saliva with object of said feelings in a truly grotesque manner.

And if it had ended there, one drunken night swept under the rug, it would have been one thing, but then he'd agreed to go on a date with her, and that just _stung. _Because what had happened to "I'm not very good at romance"?

But he still hadn't been jealous. He'd been hurt, and confused, and even somewhat protective (Berry could be downright predatory when it came to boys), but he definitely hadn't been jealous, because that just wasn't him.

Not at all.

No, really.

* * *

He wasn't the jealous type.

Why would he be?

Something he'd learned from an early age was that, on average, he was better off (in money, looks, intelligence) than everyone around him. He had yet to meet someone who had something he wanted or something he couldn't get for himself – because iPhones were easy to buy and boys were easy to steal.

So, no, he wasn't ever really jealous. On the contrary.

He was the one people were jealous _of_ – the one with cash to burn and hearts to break, the platinum status of every rewards program, the be-all and end-all of Prep-Boy Elite.

He enjoyed the looks of envy, the ability to one-up everyone around him. Carter thought it was special his mother flew in to visit him on his birthday? Well, _he _got his dream car on his birthday – and the newest console. _He _had access to Daddy's credit card (which was almost enough to fix all his daddy issues). _He _had –

Never mind. It was tasteless to brag, his father always said (or he assumed always, because they actually rarely spoke).

Jealousy was other people's game – he evoked it, he didn't feel it.

After all, why on earth would he?

* * *

This wasn't his first experience with the green-eyed monster – and by green-eyed monster, he of course meant Sebastian Smythe.

"Hey, Kurt, I didn't recognize you. You were wearing boy clothes for once."

To be honest, this wasn't even entirely about Blaine anymore, though Kurt did feel a red-hot spool of unhappiness unfurl in his stomach at the mention of their clandestine phone calls.

No, this was turning into something more. This was about the personal grudge Sebastian seemed to have developed against him, this was about Sebastian being able to render Santana toothless, this was about – this was about –

This was about Michael Jackson.

Michael Jackson had belonged to Kurt first, long before Sebastian had even come waltzing into the picture. Sebastian wasn't good enough for Michael Jackson. Sebastian didn't deserve Michael Jackson.

And Sebastian wouldn't get Michael Jackson – not if Kurt could help it.

Sebastian had decided he was through playing nice, had he? Well, Kurt had a good decade's head start on him. If he wanted a fight, then Kurt was more than ready to throw down the silver-sequined MJ glove.

It was a good thing that Kurt wasn't the type to be jealous, now, wasn't it?

* * *

When Sebastian lay claim to anything, it was his, which meant Michael Jackson was now without a doubt the Warblers' property.

"Does he_ live _here or something? Seriously, you are always here."

And then Lopez jumped in the ring, and things got ugly fast, because that was the first and last time anyone called him 'twink.'

He shut her down, shut all of them down, except that didn't quite cut it, because it still didn't fix the unexpected problem Sebastian had recently come to terms with.

He was jealous of Kurt.

He couldn't deny it – not anymore. But if someone had asked him to put into words what exactly he was jealous _of, _he didn't think he could quite pin it down.

After all, what could Kurt possibly have that he wanted?

It wasn't Blaine – that ship had sailed for Sebastian some while back (besides, he was fairly certain if he pushed hard enough, he could still charm him into bed).

It certainly wasn't his vulgar fashion sense, his loud-mouthed friends, or his 'bitch, please' personality.

And yet, he still felt definite jealousy. Something about Kurt invoked in him the feeling of badly wanting something that he couldn't have.

He just needed to figure out what that something was.

And until he figured it out, he would take the brute force approach – taking away all of the things that Kurt had, one-by-one, until he found out which one of them he wanted.

Michael Jackson was as good a place to start as any.


End file.
